


Your Biggest Fan

by JustSomeSmutHere



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:54:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21931675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustSomeSmutHere/pseuds/JustSomeSmutHere
Summary: What happens when a super Rick fan Morty and a super Morty fan Rick get together?
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Comments: 4
Kudos: 131





	Your Biggest Fan

It was slow at the JIZZ club as Morty stared at all the Ricks; appreciating the chance to get to really look at them. It was something he did often but something he would never get tired of. Each one was different but even the ones that deviated far from the classic had an undeniable 'Rickishness' to them.  
Even after serving so very many of them, so very many times, he still found himself staring. It was everything about him: His smell, the rough and reckless feel of his hands, the long limbs and strong grip. The way those long, calloused, and talented fingers somehow knew where to touch. It was the way Rick moved, his expressions, confidence and even his cockiness. Who was he kidding? Especially his cockiness. It was everything. Everything about Rick left him enamoured and captivated.  
Morty put his chin in his hand as he watched, a dreamy look on his face.  
There was a tap on his shoulder and he started violently, he was so out of it.

He turned around to see his friend, another morty who was wearing a cowboy hat. He pointed to a Rick he hadn't noticed. Which was strange since he thought he'd ogled all of the Ricks here at least once during the lull. Now that he got a good look at him, he realized it was probably because he was so unassuming and just... off. He didn't have an aura. Where was the 'Rickishness'? His presence was more like a Morty such as himself, then that of a Rick. Not unheard of but very strange. He was curious and yet unsure. He narrowed his eyes slightly as his friend began to speak.

"He likes Mortys as much as you like Ricks... or at least that's what K-162 told me… What a weirdo huh?"  
There was a smile and a chuckle in the kid’s voice as he playfully nudged him with his elbow.

Morty barely registered the nudge and fixated on the Rick, picking up on the similarities and differences in his appearance and mannerisms as compared to most Ricks, carefully analyzing him.  
He focused on him, still scrutinizing, and spoke without turning to face his companion. He was of average height but instead of a lab coat he wore a sweater with jeans and he appeared to have glasses.

“What’s he looking for exactly? Rough? A-a top? Dom?”  
It was very rare, but again it happened, and this Rick looked like he might need some serious hand holding.

He saw his friend shake his head out of his peripheral.

“We don’t know. He won’t talk to us.”  
He sounded amused and a bit baffled. Everything about this was unusual.

What kind of Rick wouldn't talk to Mortys? Mortys of all people.

He didn’t see his friends’ smile as he spoke again.  
“If anyone can figure him out, it's you Coco. Go work your magic, Rick lover.”  
There was a friendly pat on his shoulder and the other Morty had gone.

Coco continued to stare at him, observing, drinking in this Rick who wasn’t quite like any he’d met before. all Ricks were different of course but this one was far removed from the usuals. What Rick wouldn't talk to a Morty? A scared one.  
This Rick seemed to be afraid and he was obviously very withdrawn. Because as keenly as he stared around at all the Mortys, he didn’t attempt to interact. No wolf whistle, no attempt to catch ones' eye, nothing.  
The man was sort of sad really. That part wasn’t unusual though.  
Something was drawing him to this Rick and it wasn’t the usual lust and obsession. He wanted to know him and why he was afraid. He wanted to help him. It wasn't right for a Rick to be afraid of Mortys. It always disturbed him.

Morty felt out of his element, like he’d been plucked out of the present and thrown backwards to a time when he'd first moved to the citadel. When he didn't know more than a single Rick. When he was a novice. Looking at this Rick he saw himself as he used to be, scared and alone. it didn’t really upset him though. He did feel a little disturbed but he still had this overwhelming need to get to know him.

He picked his way through the somewhat quiet club. It wasn’t peak time by any stretch of the imagination and only the regulars were present with their sneers and lewd comments and ass slaps and pinches. Luckily all that hassle came with plenty of slipped 10s and 20s. The regulars were a pain but generous. They paid for their bold show of privilege.

Coco finally found himself close enough to speak with the mystery Rick, who was staring at one of his colleagues that was wearing a revealing outfit. Yes he was definitely interested in Mortys. No matter what his expression said, his eyes betrayed his real intentions.  
The boy swallowed heavily. Though nervous, he was always professional and tried an approach that usually worked on these types of customers.  
“R-rick?”  
His voice cracked as he spoke almost too softly to hear with the muted thump of dance music.

The old man was pulled out of his reverie, looking startled, lost as a baby deer. And Morty could see now the myriad of conflicted emotions on his face. He was afraid, certainly very afraid but he couldn’t take his eyes off of Morty’s face as soon as he laid his eyes on him. Morty could say it was almost as if his eyes were glued to him. The intensity of his gaze was slightly off putting, like staring into the sun.  
It was like Rick was searching for something. His eyes were sad and tired. Exceedingly so. And it appeared as if this Rick was far less adept at hiding it then most. He looked broken and vulnerable. And he looked confused. But his stare was intense.

It sort of broke Morty’s heart right then. He’d never seen a Rick with quite such an expression on his face. Not like this. Not before the Rick had been serviced anyhow. When Rick was wrecked with sex and alcohol in the early hours of the morning. That was when he'd see this expression.

The Rick didn’t answer him. He didn’t say a single word. Just stared, looking afraid, guilty, and vulnerable. He desperately wanted to say something, to tell him things would be alright. To tell him that it wasn’t his fault. Whatever that 'it' might be. That's what seemed to be needed.

Coco wanted to hug him and coo softly to him that he was there and that he wasn’t going to leave him like his previous Morty. He wasn't sure if this was what had happened. But he had that sort of look about him. A Mortyless Rick.

The man looked a bit unkempt and again, very tired. He looked as if he did take care of himself but hadn’t done a proper job of it. Like he lost heart halfway through his morning routine and made a messy job of the last few steps.

He wanted to touch him, a hand on his, on his shoulder, a hug, anything. This Rick needed him and he wanted to be there.

“Rick? Do you want to go talk somewhere that’s not, y'know, here?”  
He used a soft and familiar tone that he didn't have to put on.

The Rick’s brow narrowed and twitched as he stared at him and he still didn't answer. He didn't seem to fully register that he'd been asked a question.

Morty hesitated and didn’t move. He had no idea how to react. He knew how he wanted to react but he had no idea what would happen if he did. As vulnerable and open as his eyes were, he couldn’t tell at all what he was thinking. In fact, he really didn’t know what to make of this strange, sad Rick. This Rick was out of it and it almost seemed as if Rick was high or something. Maybe that was it. But he didn't really seem exactly high. Wherever Rick was, it wasn't here.

If he was high, than his could be a huge mistake but he took a chance and went with what his instincts told him to do. They were rarely wrong.The L Morty put a gentle hand on his, careful not to apply any pressure, just laying it over top of the old rough hand with the long, callused fingers. Fingers he knew so well.

“Rick, look. It’s gonna be okay, alright? We can talk. Or we don't have to talk at all. I can go or you're free to leave whenever you want. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do and you don't have to be here if it's too painful.”  
He gave his hand a very subtle squeeze.

The sad but impenetrable gaze didn’t waver but he could tell gears were finally turning behind it. Maybe it was the physical contact that jarred him loose.

Before Morty could even think about his next move, he was almost tackled and wrapped up in a tight embrace.

His breath hitched as he was squeezed and he was paralyzed as to what to do. His eyes went wide and he froze. This wasn't part of the script. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

Rick was holding him in a way he’d never been held before, at least not by a Rick. It wasn’t harsh and perfunctory. It was a careful, dare he say loving embrace. One with intention behind it and not just a desperate cling to hold on to something lost or half remembered. This embrace was meant for him. Only for him. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. He wasn't prepared for this. Not at all.

“HEY! NO TOUCHING THE MORTYS, ASSHOLE!”

Before he could properly appreciate or even register the feeling of being held in such a way he was wrenched apart from him and an intense and inexplicable feeling of loss hit him, like a light filament popping.

“Ahh!”  
A firm, reassuring hand squeezed his shoulder. The touch was similar but something about it wasn’t remotely the same.

He acted quickly as he saw his- no. Not his. Never his. As he saw the burly bouncer grab the mystery Rick by the front of his shirt and growl right in his face.

“No touching the damn Mortys, pervert.”  
He said menacingly in a guttural British accent. Like the growl of a dog.

“No! It’s okay! waitwaitwait!!”  
His voice was high and desperate. He didn’t want him to run away. He couldn’t run away. He couldn't leave. This wasn’t going like he needed it to go. He grabbed and scrabbled at the bouncer's arm, trying to get him to let go.  
“G! No no it’s okay really! This is- It’s not- He wasn’t hurting me! He won’t hurt me! Please!”

The bouncer looked wholly unconvinced and didn't even budge as Morty grabbed and wrenched at his arm. G narrowed his eyes at the strange Rick.

Rick stared at him with the same look of confusion and sadness. The only difference was that his expression was now mingled with fright, he looked as if he wanted to run away. Morty had to do something, he was feeling so anxious that it felt like his heart was being squeezed.  
What was happening? What was this feeling? This wasn't in the script.

“Something’s wrong with this one, L, I don’t like the way he looks. He ain't supposed to touch. Alright pal, time to-”

“NO! G PLEASE!!”

The bouncer turned to him, clearly trying to keep his patience 

“G, just- listen he’s not gonna hurt me. He’s not gonna hurt anyone. Just look at him!”  
He winced internally at the slight to the Rick’s character but was mildly surprised to see no bristling and no sniping retort.

G, gazed at him with narrowed eyes.  
“Alright, Morty.”  
He said without looking at him. He got closer to the Rick’s face.  
“I swear to god if he hadn’t said something you’d be out on your ass or worse for touching. No funny business, you little shit.”

“I’m gonna go in the back with him.”  
Morty piped up, relieved but trying to sound authoritative.

“No the fuck you’re not.”  
The reply was automatic, almost fatherly and gruff.

Morty narrowed his eyes.  
“You know what? That’s fine. You can tell the boss that you threw out a patron that was probably ready to put down a lot of money on me. Remember the last time you tried to go over my head? You run Ricks off too much, G. You've been reprimanded before.”

G dropped the Rick to the ground and growled.  
“You know what, Morty? Go get cut the fuck up or taken to a planet and slowly tortured for the rest of your life. Don’t listen to me. I don’t give a shit anymore.”  
He walked away, not looking back but threw him a few choice insults.  
"Hopped up little twat. Loud mouthed little shit."

Morty began helping Rick up. He barely noticed the man nearly shy away from his touch.  
“You’re not the only one who’s allowed to be a cocky asshole in this place!!”  
He turned his head and called back in an irritated voice. The only reply he got was a swift middle finger that he didn't even see.

He looked at the mystery Rick with genuine concern as the old man stumbled to his feet. He almost seemed clumsy. Morty found himself latently surprised that his hand hadn’t been smacked away. He’d been allowed to help him. No Rick had ever let him help them up before. 

“Thanks, Morty.”

The words were soft and though brief, he could hear that they came from an honest place. He'd only heard a Rick tell him thank you a handful of times.  
Who was this guy?

Rick seemed to have been shocked into conversation, or maybe it was just because he was so shaken up. But this was good progress. The man had seemed to come back to himself.

“That guy act like that a lot?”  
He asked as he dusted himself off, looking wary as G bared his teeth in a sardonic smile and smacked his fist into his palm.

“Sometimes.”  
Morty said noncommittally.  
“Cmon’ Rick.”

Instinct kicked in again and he took another chance. He pressed his hand into the larger one and pulled him along.  
“Let’s go this way.”

Morty dragged him away gently and Rick let him lead him away, gazing back warily at G one more time before looking around and becoming aware of where he was being taken.

He led him to the back of the club where the lights were low and it was quite derelict and shabby compared to the club itself.  
One of the fluorescent lights overhead flickered as he took him down a hallway. It smelled like cum and booze and bleach; or maybe that was just the cum and not bleach. It was hard to tell but it was strong. There was also the unpleasant smell of potpourri and cologne trying to cover it up.

The boy peeked quickly behind a curtain before leading him into a room with a large crescent shaped couch and a multicolored disco light that revolved slowly and threw a multitude of colors over the interior. Morty sat him down and seated himself next to him. Rick looked at him with an innocent, somewhat blank stare, as if he still wasn’t sure where he was or what he was doing there.

Morty took his other hand in his, trying to soothe him, and looked at him. After taking a deep breath, he spoke.  
“Rick. Why did you come here? This… isn’t a place for a Rick like you.” The words surprised him but he meant them. This Rick seemed so out of place here. 

The old man’s features changed as if he’d suddenly woken up again. His gaze drifted down to their clasped hands and he pulled away from quickly, shying away. Morty noticed for the first time that he had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

Rick looked around again and seemed to be contemplating. It was as if he was silently agreeing with what Morty had said.  
“I-I just wanted to talk to a Morty or something. Or at least I thought I did. I don’t even know.”

Morty looked sympathetically at him and grimaced.  
“You know this isn’t really a place for Ricks who don’t know what they want. Pretty much every Rick that comes in here knows exactly what he wants.”

Rick winced as if he’d been struck and his mouth twisted. He bristled slightly. For the first time he looked like an actual Rick.  
“You don’t think I know that, Morty?”  
He sounded like Rick. But then he blushed and the moment was gone.  
“Like I said, I’m really not sure why I came here. I don’t think it was for the same reason most Ricks do. It definitely wasn't for that reason. I-I think.”  
He refused to look at him.

Morty searched his eyes.  
“Well, we’re here now. So what do you want to do?” Morty was at a bit of a loss. He wasn't exactly good at improvising. He knew what Rick's wanted and gave it to them. That's what he was good at. All Ricks were Ricks in the end.

Rick’s blush deepened and he looked anywhere but at Morty.  
“I dunno just.. Talk. Just talk, I guess.”

The boy's heart ached and he wanted to reach out for his hand again but knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. It was all he could think to do. He was certainly no therapist and wasn't at all prepared for this. He wasn't very good with feelings when it came to Ricks.  
“About what?” He said softly.

The old scientist looked at him hesitantly, staring into his eyes as if he was afraid of their intensity, but he was resolute.  
“I just wanted to see a Morty. Just to look at him properly instead of just a fleeting glance in fear of getting caught staring and get called a freak or a creep or beaten up. I just wanted to look.”

This made Morty feel nervous. It wasn't normal. He'd never been stared at before and didn't know how he felt about it.

The man kneaded his hands and changed the subject quickly.  
“I heard most Mortys here don’t have Ricks and refuse to get assigned to one so… I can’t really get in trouble with a Rick for looking at a Morty if there is no Rick.”  
His eyes were apologetic as he gazed at him. He was ashamed but why exactly? Sure it was a little creepy but not harmful. Then again Rick's were very possessive of their Mortys and he was probably right in thinking this was the place to go for such a strange request.

Morty looked away, considering the statement.  
“Well I guess you’re right. Most of us don’t have a Rick. Rick’s are pretty bossy and sometimes overprotective. We don't like that.”  
His expression grew a bit frustrated but he tried his best to hide it and wipe it away.  
“There are reasons we don’t have Ricks and they’re all different.”  
He looked at him again.  
“Haha, none of our stories are particularly nice, to be honest.”  
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling awkward, there was a pain in his chest, and he redirected the focus back to his visitor.  
“You said you wanted to look at a Morty?”  
His face was suddenly quizzical.  
“What do you mean exactly? Just… look?”  
He'd been looking at Mortys this whole time, wasn't that enough?

Rick became evasive, looking at his hands, not offering him an answer.

Morty grimaced again as he looked at him, his brow furrowing. It was becoming quite obvious that this Rick, even if he hadn’t come in for the same reason, had the same ideologies about Mortys as the rest of them. He was attracted to them.  
And he'd known plenty of voyeurs in his time at the club but he didn’t think this was the same thing.  
He suddenly felt vulnerable as he considered his next words, but after mulling them over for a moment, he knew they were the right ones to say.  
“Then look at me, Rick.”

There was a small period of time where the only reaction Rick offered was a worrying at his lip. Then he looked at him.

Morty looked back at the blue eyes that were obscured by the shifting colors thrown across the old man’s face.  
And in the focus of his gaze he suddenly felt naked.  
Rick looked at him as he’d never quite been looked at before. Not through him, but at him. He wasn’t a replacement or a substitute.  
It was the same feeling he’d gotten when this Rick had looked at him the first time but even more intense.

He noticed Rick was scanning his face, staring at every bit of it, lingering here and there. It was as if he was trying to commit it memory, even down to the smallest detail.  
Morty blushed and his lips parted slightly, his pupils dilating, his heart thumping hard in his chest, and then there was that feeling again.

Coco loved Ricks. Loved them with every fiber of his being. But this was a different feeling. It certainly felt like love. But maybe a different type of love. He couldn’t properly place it. It left him feeling puzzled.

There was a moment when he was sure that Rick would reach out and touch him but then the moment was gone. And he was sorry for it.

It was over all too quickly. And he pined for it to go on.

Rick looked at him with gratitude.  
“Thank you, Morty.”  
He said quietly.

Morty held back a shiver at the genuine tone in his voice. Another first for him. Not the first shiver he'd gotten from hearing a Rick but not this kind of shiver. Not this feeling.  
Then there was a warm hand on his shoulder. It squeezed and his eyes widened as he glanced at it then back at the man.

Rick smiled and looked away. It snapped Morty out of his spell. He shook his head once or twice to clear it. The old man was already getting up.

Morty suddenly felt at a loss as to what to do. He had to stop him. He had to make him stay. He needed him to stay. He needed him to look at him again like that. He needed him to look at him like that forever.

“WAIT!”

Rick’s smile faltered and he blinked.  
“Yes?”  
He sounded uncertain.

And Morty realized he himself felt uncertain. Rick had obviously gotten what he needed out of the silent exchange. But Morty hadn’t gotten nearly enough. Maybe he could never get enough.

Morty stared at his face plaintively.  
“Please don’t go.”  
His voice was soft and he sounded as if he was begging.

Rick’s brow furrowed.  
“You want me... to stay?”

Morty bit his lip.  
“Yes.”  
What was he doing? So unprofessional.

Rick considered him and Morty felt weak with those eyes on him again. That gentle gaze.

“Why?”  
He said.

“Because,” He blurted out, looking around for inspiration, “Look I don’t think you’re weird or creepy or anything so please just stay.”

Rick blinked at him, his brow still furrowed as if this didn’t properly answer his question. It was simply a desperate plea.

Rick seemed somewhat reluctant as he sat down again with a sigh. He seemed anxious.

He wasn’t doing this right. It had gone wrong. He was complicating things in a way that wasn’t necessary. Hadn’t that been enough? Just to be looked at like a person instead of an object? He was being greedy. Taking too much. Wanting too much.

The boy swallowed and looked away from that penetrating stare as he tried to collect his thoughts. He finally dared to look back at him, considering him.  
“It’s really nice to have someone not want to… To not look at me like I’m a piece of meat for once.”

Rick’s eyes widened as if the thought had never even occurred to him, as if it was blasphemous; and Morty’s heart beat even harder.

The scientist suddenly looked more Rick-like than ever.  
“Well no, it would be a little fucked up for me to look at my grandson like that.”  
He said spitefully.

And Morty agreed and in that moment it was as if everything he knew about his life and the citadel were a very bad dream.  
A grandfather shouldn’t look at his grandson like that. He was right. It was fucked up.  
Really fucked up.

Morty looked away, his heart beating like that of a hummingbird’s in his chest. His moth was moving for him, he couldn't stop it. Something was clawing its way up from deep inside and it had to come out.  
“G-grandpa Rick?”

Rick’s eyes widened to the size of saucers and he swallowed hard. After a moment’s hesitation he replied.  
“Y-yeah Morty?”

Morty successfully fought back tears.  
“Do you wanna like, go for some ice cream or something?”  
What was he talking about? This was wrong. This was unprofessional. Mortys didn't mingle with their clients.

But this wasn't a client.

Rick’s eyes softened and Morty, who’s gaze was focused elsewhere, didn’t see the tears swimming in them.  
“Yeah, that sounds great, Morty.”

"By the way, my name is Coco."

"You can just call me Rick."

**Author's Note:**

> This is just the first chapter. Next one comes in 2 weeks.


End file.
